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My fingers are eleven, together they bring you past the gates or heaven

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My lips may be shy

And my tongue holy

But my fingers are no saints

Like my hands, they love their sin

And together they outnumber 10,

My fingers are eleven

Bringing all past the gates of heaven

And seeking for what is sweeter when closed but isn't theirs

Las las they are not afraid of finding temptation

In the end, with poetry they lead temptation, making a saint out of even the devil.




Kingdavid Chinaeke Ofunne
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